A Mortal Choice
by KyMahalei
Summary: During the first age, the Vala Manwe gave a gift to the Peredhil. As they were descended from both elves and men, so they were given the choice of mortal or immortality. Elrond and his children are all Peredhil. Teitho first place winner Please review!


Diary of Arwen Undomiel

2951 Third Age

April 14. 2951

I arrived home at Imladris three days ago, and oh, it is good to be home! I remember when I left here to live with my grandparents at Lothlorien so long ago. All seemed shrouded in grayness and there was no light in my world. For years after my mother sailed to the Undying Lands I had tried to reweave the fabric of our family, but Elladan and Elrohir were more bent on avenging her brokenness than healing their own wounds, and my father's grief poured like a dark river through our days. I suppose I was more open to knowing his grief because I felt so responsible to stand in my mother's place, but my father would not allow me to comfort him. To the rest of the household he has always been a paragon of strength and evenhandedness. He is known as Elrond the Wise with good reason, but I know he struggled for wisdom in the face of his own grief.

Now that I'm again at Imladris, I have remembered a large part of that great darkness. The wound taken to my soul when my mother sailed should have allowed me to nay, should have compelled me to fade and depart for Mandos' Halls myself, yet it did not. I remember dreading the morn when I would have to address the world again and strive to reclaim the joy which poured from my heart in earlier days; wishing instead to fold inward and disappear. Oh how dark that was! My hand trembles as I write. Truly I do not wish to enter that great darkness again, but why didn't I grieve as others did? Why didn't I fade as was my desire? I do not wish to visit the darkness again, after all my grandmother has done to lift me from it. I only worry that there might be a place or a time here that reawakens the despair.

But I will not dwell on such things, for that is not why I am writing. What would I rather write about? Perhaps I should take a moment to tell of an interesting thing that happened to me when I was visiting the birch glen that is up and behind the Last Homely House. There are so many places that are beautiful in Imladris, but this small copse of woods is like a jewel in the midst of it all. I have always loved the paths and streams that lace the wood, and the shimmering of the leaves as they dance in the wind. When we arrived at the manse, I greeted my family heartily, but as soon as I could, I slipped away to find comfort in these trees. The leaves had budded some days past, and were still tender and light in the morning sun. There is such energy in the new green of this season! The white trunks of the trees stood as sentinels of the wood; raising their spindly arms to greet the azure sky. The ground beneath the trees was soft and rich and bursting with the new life force of the season. And the smell, oh the rich tang of soil newly released from snowmelt is hard to describe. I was quite lost in the power of the moment when the sound of singing reached my ears. At first I thought it was an elf, so clear were the words and sweet the voice, but as the form came closer I saw it to be a Man, one of the Dunedain given his build and height. He was singing a refrain from the Lay of Luthien, that sad song of an elf and mortal love bound, and I fear he had spied me for a few heartbeats before I saw him. I think I must have looked dazed when my eyes met his. He ceased the song and all was silence between us for long moments. I remembered my place quickly and gazed on him intently, hoping that he would withdraw. He did not flinch under my watchful eye, but looked for a moment as though to kneel. Then, instead, he lifted his chin and looked at me with naïve amazement. "_Tinuviel?"_ he called quietly, "_Tinuviel_?"

I had forgotten in my absence, how many mortals are given leave to wander Imladris, and forgotten also how easily besotted they become when confronted with the beauty Iluvator has given me. I had to laugh at the man, although it was not unkindly, "_Who are you, and why do you call me by that name?"_

He smiled, then. It was a sweet smile that was both open and honest. He dropped his head as though considering being embarrassed, but then he looked into my eyes again with confidence and mirth. _"Because I believed you to be Luthien Tinuviel." _He raised his eyebrows and continued with sincerety, "_But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness."_

We both laughed, then, and he bowed and introduced himself. He is Aragorn, although he goes also by the name Estel. He is one of the Dunedain fosterlings that my father has taken in over the centuries as part of their training to become chief of his people. Unlike the other Men who came to complete their training as they came of age, he has been here since he was two, since his chieftain father was killed. I imagine that explains his confidence in dealing with the firstborn. He has done it all his life. It was an odd meeting, and I would not mind seeing him again.

There is to be a welcoming feast tonight and I look forward to the laughing and the dancing. My time with Grandmother at Lothlorien was a time of healing for me. I only hope that I can keep alive the light and joy that she returned to me when I was with her there.

April 15, 2951

Elrohir makes me so annoyed, and yet I am happy to be with him again. The festivities last night were so much fun. The dances here are much more robust than the formal ones in Lothlorien, although we are not nearly as frolicsome as the Silvan elves of Mirkwood. Between the evening and the travelling yesterday I found that I was really in need of a full night's sleep, so I did not emerge from my room until well towards noon.

Mariel was kind enough to save me some bread and cheese from breakfast and I took it out to the woodlot behind the kitchen. It had already proven to be a beautiful day. The air had warmed enough to pull the scent of pine from the trees in the yard, where there is always the smell of chopped wood mixed with kitchen enticements. I paused in the doorway looking for a place to perch, when I noticed that Aragorn was in the yard. He was intent on watching Elrohir who was pitching a set of throwing knives into the chopping block some four paces away. Every now and again my brother would vary his target to include one of the apples that lay as deadfall from last autumn, near the trunk of the great apple tree. He was able to skewer a few of them, but with nowhere the accuracy I was capable of. When he finished the set he turned to me, as though surprised to see me.

"Mae govannen, little sister," he grinned, "As you can see, I have become much better at the knives in your absence."

I smiled politely at him and set down my breakfast on a small table near the door. I graced him with a look of daring confidence. "If you will gather the knives for me, I will be glad to show you how it is properly done," I said. Traditionally, the throwing of such knives has been a pastime of the elleth of the community. It is really more of a game than a show of military prowess. Normally it would be in poor taste to show off in front of a mortal not named _elvellon _or life friend of the elves, but Elrohir was my brother and he deserved to be put in his place. Normally, too, I should have greeted Aragorn courteously, but I am known for foregoing custom when I get engaged in something.

Elrohir collected the knives and handed them to me with a gracious bow. I handled one of the knives for a moment testing its weight and balance, then shifted to a throwing stance and quickly sent all six knives towards the chopping block. They hit the side of the block in quick rhythm. I had chosen a simple pattern to place them in and I was pleased to see that they formed a perfect circle. I confess to a bit of smugness as I turned to my brother.

"Arwen, where are your manners?" he chided me, ignoring my success. "You do well enough with the knives, but you did not even greet Estel. Greet him now, unless you would claim forfeit."

I looked down and blushed, for I knew that I had been out of line, "Greetings, Aragorn, and forgive my rudeness." Deciding to hide my shame with boldness, I looked at the mortal full in the face, "Although as male you should have greeted me first. Perhaps I should claim forfeit instead."

Aragorn shook his head, his eyes wide with amazement. (Or was it dazed again at the beauty in my affect?) "What would you claim?" he said.

Eager to put yet another besotted Man in his place, I walked over to the knives and pulled them from the block. "Can you throw well?" I asked.

"Shame on you for making Estel so uncomfortable," protested my brother, although he was grinning, "Think you that he can best you at the knives?"

"I did not ask him to best me, Elrohir," I retorted, returning his smile, "I only wish to see what he can do."

"You do not have to accept this, Estel," said Elrohir. "You may choose another forfeit if you like."

Estel smiled then. It was a becoming smile with mirth and mischief. "I would not deny the lady her sport," he said at last. "But I would ask your help with the apples."

Elrohir nodded and gathered six apples from the ground. Within the next minute he had tossed the apples one at a time and Estel had sundered them as they flew. Not one was left intact.

It was my turn to look with amazement. This was no mortal besotted by my beauty. He had nerve and skill besides! I retreated to my breakfast and begged their leave. I didn't know what to make of this Dunedain.

April 17, 2951

I had words with my father today. I know in my heart that I am the apple of his eye, and there are many times I can wheedle from him far more than my brothers can, but this day I fear I overstepped. Perhaps we are both out of step with the cadence of our relationship.

I own that I can be more than impetuous. Spontaneity is, after all, a hallmark of the Eldar. But I seem to have impulsiveness coupled with a sense of urgency that can totally unravel those of calmer countenance.

I had seen in Lothlorien smooth rocks from the stream painted with all sorts of fine designs and I had decided that this day would be a day to collect the rocks to make my own. Our home is built so close to the waterfalls that I knew finding suitable rocks nearby would be difficult. I could venture into the valley, but _Ada_ had forbidden me to walk there without escort. There had been troubling reports of orc attacks nearby and he was ever cautious with my safety. I would have been happy enough to set out with Elladan and Elrohir, indeed, they were planning to spend the afternoon with me, but a messenger arrived with news of dark tidings and they were called away for several days. I was quite disappointed at the turn of events and went to my father to beg of him to find me another escort. My timing might have been poor I'll allow, but he grew quite annoyed with me and finally said, "Are you a mortal that you cannot wait another day to take your quest? Look for your rocks in the water near our house, or do not look for them at all. You are as impatient as Elros ever was!"

I cannot fathom the reason for his displeasure, and never had I heard him malign the race of men before. It is true that his twin Elros was known for the urgency that marked his life, and that he chose the mortal way, but why he should dangle those facts in my face is beyond me.

I withdrew to my birch glade then, and did a rather masterful job of feeling sorry for myself, but there was a gentle wind blowing and life abounding and eventually I found myself dancing with the pleasure of it all.

April 24, 2051

We finally got to the lower river today! Elrohir and Elladan were able to come and they brought along Aragorn as well. This dunedain has wormed his way into my family's heart, of that I'm sure. He takes meals with the family and listens well to the speaking of his elders, but then will speak, often interrupting with an idea or fancy of his own. He is wise beyond his years and has mastered the skill of eliciting laughter even from father at moment's notice. He is fun to laugh with. I find myself relaxing when I am near him. It is strange for a mortal to so easily set me off my guard.

When we left for the lower river we carried with us a picnic in a sturdy pack. We chattered as we walked. I am still getting caught up on the goings on since I was away, and the twins are never short on funny tales to tell. We reached the flats in good enough time. I wanted to search for stones forthwith, but the men were more interested in the contents of the picnic bag. It was indeed a feast! There were salads both fruit and vegetable, two kinds of yellow cheese, baked potatoes and several sorts of bread, all fresh from the oven. Ellandan had nabbed some wine on his way through the kitchen, although I doubt that any of the kitchen folk knew of its disappearance.

I smiled when I saw the dishes that were sent. The twins have horrible manners when it comes to picnics. With a lady along there was a full table to set. I was quite happy to set up the picnic, although I nearly slapped a few hands that were too eager to get at the food. Aragorn was as bad as my brothers in this regard. Thankfully, they decided to swim before the meal. The water was shallow near to us, but it was not far to walk upstream to where a wide waterfall had created a deep pool. The melody of the water was soothing and the freshness of the air by the river was invigorating. I smiled as I listened to Elladan teasing Elrohir while they splashed. It is so good to be home again.

Our voices during the meal melded with the babble of the water, and we spent some time enjoying the repast. In the end, I was eager to look for rocks, but my brothers were still in no hurry. Aragorn grew restless as well and finally excused himself. He walked to where the sandy shore met the edge of the water and eventually he took a large stick and absently began to trace lines in the sand. I was intrigued and went to watch his tracings.

"What are you doing?" I finally asked, when curiosity had gotten the best of me.

"I am making a castle in the sand," he responded, scratching long lines to create some large rectangles on the shore. "This will be my reception hall, this will be my library, and this will be my kitchen."

I looked at him askance, "Why are you doing this?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, sometimes I like to create things just to see how they work out."

"But it is so messy, and not carefully done. How can you make something without tending to the details?"

"I'm mortal, I guess. Mortals don't always have time for the details. Here," he said, handing me his stick and grabbing another one for himself, "you can decide where we will put the Hall of Fire."

Laughing I acquiesced to his request. We spent the next hour or so crafting a castle of magnificent proportions. Never have I had such fun creating something that was so slipshod in its construction.

May 1, 2951

Today was a sobering day. The patrol that Adar sent to the east last week returned today with the body of one of our warriors. They met with orcs on the fourth day of their journey. They said they slew many, but to lose a life in the process. . . It seems to me as though the darkness is crowding at our doorstep. The lament began shortly after noon and the singing will continue at least for another day. His body will be bathed, his braids tied in the manner of his family and he will be dressed in fine clothing that honors his house. It is our custom to stay with the body for a full night and day so that the _fea, _the soul may have time to depart to the Halls of Mandos. The body is like a chrysalis then, with the butterfly flown. In somber respect we set a funeral pyre.

I am reminded, in times such as this, of the departure of my own dear mother, Celebrian. It has been close on to five hundred years since she passed, but the wound is still with me. She was travelling to Lothlorien and had just traversed the Redhorn Gate, the pass in the Caradhras Mountain, when she was taken by orcs. They did not kill her, but they tormented her until her spirit was broken. It was Elladan and Elrohir who found her. It was Adar who restored her body. But for an elf, when the heart is broken, the choices are few. She could have faded and passed into Mandos' Halls or take the path she chose; to sail west across the sea. I felt so helpless during that year when she was broken but still with us. Of all in my family she was the one who understood me the most. My bouts of urgency didn't bother her – indeed she often laughed kindly at me. She was patient with me when my work was neither as careful nor as well considered as my brothers'. At night, sometimes, I would have terrible nightmares of those I loved dying like mortals, and she was always there to calm my fears and sing me back to sleep. Oh, how I loved my mother. I say loved and not love, for I feel she has gone to a place that I will never see. It is a dark secret that I confess only to myself, but even with the reassurances that my father has been wont to give, I know that somehow I shall never see the shores of Valinor.

I should go and join the lament now. I did not know the warrior who passed on very well. But if I sing for my dear mother I will sing with full heart and desire.

May 4, 2951

Father is unhappy with me again. We were in the library last night, looking at a series of history books that dealt with the Numerian race in the first age. He was engaged in the retelling of part of the great saga and I was happy to sit at his feet and listen, for he has a fine reading voice. When the story came to a close he allowed the silence to rest for a moment, then asked if I would like to choose another story. I was ready to hear something in a different vein that the stories of wars and dynasties that marks so much of our history, so I stood and crossed the room to where some of the lighter books are stored. All the books in the section seemed too familiar.

"You seem restless, _penneth," _said my father, "is there something that you are seeking but not finding?"

"I am looking for something new, _Ada_," I confessed. He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. I fetched a stool to see if there was anything on the higher shelves that might interest me. On the top shelf was a small volume of very great age that I could not remember seeing before. Taking great care to handle the book gently, I pulled it from its place and came to sit in a chair near my father.

I could feel _Ada's_ eyes on me even before I opened the cover. He watched as I carefully began turning the pages. There was nothing on the frontspiece, save for the title, but a blank page a bit further in I could see writing in ink that was faded from age. _To Elros from Elrond_ it read, then my father spoke as I read the rest, "_may your adventures ever be to your own liking, and may you never get caught in the rain." _

"That book has rested in my room for centuries," explained my father, "I kept in there in memory, but I thought it would be good to share the stories in it with you children at some point." He sighed, "For being twins, Elros and I were so far apart in temperament. I love the careful layering of craft or task, he often hurried to get through things as quickly as he could, as though creativity would evaporate if left sitting too long. I loved the strength of tradition, he loved the adventures."

"What about the getting caught in the rain part?" I asked

"That is something I never understood until he made his choice to remain mortal," said my father, and a look of resigned weariness seemed to cast itself across his features. "There is something about the rain that is welcoming to elves. We generally don't like to get soaked in a downpour, but how many spring squalls or summer mists have you danced in?" I smiled. "But Elros, who was so seldom finicky about anything had a peculiar distaste for getting wet in the rain."

"Like a cat," I said.

"Like a cat," said my father, "or like a mortal. Generally I've found most mortals to be most disagreeable when it comes to getting wet in the rain."

I started to laugh, but then I saw my father's face and had to stop. He had the most mournful look in his eyes, and his attention was far, far away. I reached out my hand and placed it gently on his knee. "I am sorry _Ada_. Does the pain ever go away?"

He came back to himself then and smiled ruefully at me, "No, _penneth,_ it never does. I suppose if there weren't so many happy memories then the separation wouldn't cause me so much pain."

"Is that all of why you mourn?" I asked, sensing that there was more to his grief that he had shared.

"Only that of all my children, you remind me of him."

"How do I remind you of him, _Ada_?" I hoped for a story better than those in the books. My father looked into my eyes, then and I could see both his great wisdom and a profound sorrow within them. I was about to withdraw my question when he spoke.

"You have the same sense of urgency about you, as though time were somehow your master. You are so alive, Arwen. Most of the firstborn weave their way through creation, but you and Elros dive into life, never mind if you get dirty in the process. You hold fast to emotions –and to relationships, but not to grudges. And you are ever looking towards finding something new."

Adar took the book then and placed it on the table. He took my hands in his and kissed me on my forehead. He looked into my eyes and almost whispered, "You are so like him, _penneth_, even in your love for me. Elros loved me, and yet he chose the mortal life. Could you promise me . . .?" He did not finish the sentence because I think he realized that I might not answer it in the way that he wished. The unfinished words came between us, and I found that I could not promise him my choice, nor I could not assuage his fears with my answer. I took my hands back to myself and quietly left the room. I wish I could have stayed to comfort him, but I am only his daughter and such comfort is not mine to give.

And so I am left with this unresolved conflict. That Elrohir, Elladan and I will each choose our own destiny has always been known to me. We are Perhedil and the blood of both elves and men runs in our veins. The choice is both a birthright and a doom. Elros loved my father, perhaps even more than I love him since they were twins, and yet his choice was the mortal way. What would happen if I chose that course? I reflected on what my father had said, on the secret in my heart, on my actions these past days and past years (what he said about getting dirty was the absolute truth. I am no elf in that regard. It has always seemed to me that accepting a little dirt is a small price to pay for a better adventure!) If I were to choose the mortal way, I would do irreparable damage to my _Ada's_ loving heart. And yet . . .

It is not a choice that needs to be made just yet, but I wonder if for Elros it was a choice into something new, or a confirmation of a life and a lifestyle that had manifest itself in many ways over many years beforehand.

May 16, 2051

Much has happened since I last wrote.

Aragorn is my foster brother. It sounds so strange to say. My father has fostered many of the Dunedain over the years. They have stayed for a time to learn the history and the healing lore that Imladris can provide, and then they move on to become rangers, those strange creatures that wander the countryside ever vigilant to keep the darkness at bay. Aragorn is one of these, but he is the first to call my father _Ada._ I think it is more than just the young age at which he was delivered here. For some reason he has wakened the protector in my father and woven his life with him as his only paternal guide. For his part, my father has not retreated from the honor, but has embraced Aragorn and counts him as one of his own.

That is why, I think, that my father allowed him to serve as escort when I asked again to go to the flats of the river to gather more rocks. I had collected a few on our picnic day, but my efforts did not produce the quality of work that I desired, so I made arrangements to go and gather more of the flat stones that had been washed to shore by the river.

After the lamentation and the funeral, a large contingent of warriors were sent forth to deal decisively with the orcs, and my brothers went with them. I do not often worry for their safety. They have spent so many years hunting orc that I think that the foul creatures must be little more than annoyances to be brushed aside with their swords. This time, though, the death of their comrade was at the front of everyone's thought, and I could not help but be a little anxious as to the outcome of their patrol.

The morning that Aragorn and I chose to venture into the valley was dry but a bit overcast. As usual, I was fixed on my goal – this day to find the perfect rocks for my project. I'm afraid I didn't make for good company on the outward bound trip. Aragorn didn't seem to notice. He was quite as sensitive as an elf to the ongoing story that nature laid at our feet as we walked. The sky, the birds, the trees and the occasional comical squirrel were all noted without words. This last was actually a pair of squirrels that were so funny in their antics that we both laughed out loud at the same time. That seemed to break the barrier of silence and Aragorn began to tell me then of some of the adventures of the twins as they had taught him the basics of woodsmanship and tracking. It was a pleasure to listen to the edain talk. His voice is lower than most elves and he speaks the Sidrian language with sweet resonance. I urged him on with stray comments and questions and he seemed quite comfortable filling the distance to the river with his stories.

Aragorn was quite helpful when we got to the river. He listened to find out the kinds of stones I required and was most diligent in looking for rocks that would serve. At one point I accidently dropped a rock back into the water and the splash caught him full in the back. At first I thought it might create an awkward moment, but he caught my eye with twinkling mirth and returned the favor by dropping a rock in such a way as to splash my front. A friendly battle in the water ensued and I was surprised at how much he felt like one of my brothers – fun to tease and more fun to torment.

Rather wet, and yet well pleased with our haul, we eventually made our way up the banks of the river and returned to the forest path that would return us to the Last Homely House. There was no silence to be had then – we talked and chatted as though we were lifetime friends.

With sudden abruptness, we came upon a little bird lying in the path. I don't know if a beast or bird had injured it, but the little animal was clearly in the last moments of its life. I don't know why it moved me as it did. As an immortal I am well used to seeing birds and animals, even Men come and grow old and pass into that final sleep of death that claims them. But this little bird was struggling for breath and somehow in that struggle I felt the power of that balance between life and death that all mortals must face with utmost certainty. I cried out and gently placed the bird in my hand. I could feel the tears making paths down my cheeks. Ah, little bird, how beautiful it had been in life to breathe and sing and fly in the springtime sky that I loved so well. And even with all that beauty and strength of life it could not deny the keening call of death. And so it must be with all mortals. And so I wept.

Aragorn did not leave me then, but knelt beside me and wrapped his arm around me. I turned and buried my face in his shoulder and cried silently until my tears were spent.

It was only then, after my emotions had been granted full leave to speak their mind that Aragorn set me back. With sureness and calmness that put my heart at ease, he cupped my chin in his hand and gave me a gentle kiss.

Eru, but I love that man! He did not censure me nor judge me nor even neglect me in my sorrow. He embraced me and accepted me. I realize now that the greatest gift of this edain, this mortal man is that he loves me for who I am. He is willing to see me shine, and comfortable putting me in my place when his skills are better than mine. He would rather be his honest (and hungry) self rather than hide behind the veil of decorum. He laughs and makes me laugh with such ease. And all of the quirks, the things that make me different from all of my race – many of these differences he shares himself, or at least does not let them matter.

In truth, I feel more at home with Estel than I feel with any of the firstborn. I feel safe and happy and loved and free. Free to be myself for the first time in my life.

But such a proclamation comes with a price.

I could never admit to my father that I have been of mortal leanings since I was small. The dirt, the urgency, the carelessness and the hunger for the new are all of the mortal bent. And the dark secret that I have held close to my heart for so long – That I cannot fade, and that I will never gaze into my mother's eyes again – these are things that tell me my path was set for me before I even knew there was a path to be on. Is it destiny that I choose or destiny that I have been chosen? I do not know.

What excuse can I find to offer for the choice that will break my father's heart? I will claim that I am not of mortal ilk, but that the cause of my choice is my love for Aragorn. Estel is kind and wise and I know that I will come to love him only more deeply over the years. But he is also a son in my father's house and perhaps if my father sees that I will be under the care of one who he holds so dear then he will not grieve for me as he grieves for Elros. He need never know the true nature of my choice.

Is this wisdom or folly? I do not know. I only know that my choice has been made long since to walk as a mortal and my choice has been made this day to walk with Aragorn, wherever his path might lead.


End file.
